On the subject of nations as humane
by Kuckucksei
Summary: Ludwig, deemed the perfect Nazi in both ideology and appearance, takes a Jewish boy under his wing during the Third Reich and comes to love him as if he were his own son. Human AU, OC.
1. In the Middle of the Night

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

I.

A cry splits the night. Ludwig bolts up in bed, disturbed from pleasant dreams, his blue eyes darting about the room in confusion.

The cry continues, fluctuating wildly without stopping. Ludwig grinds his teeth: he knows that, unless he goes to check what it is, he'll have no sleep tonight. He pulls his blankets to the side, sliding from the bed into fuzzy slippers.

He marches through the doorway of his bedroom into the hall. His hair is wild and messy. His slippers slap against the polished wooden floor.

He reaches the front door, undoes every lock, and wrenches the door open, scanning the street for a child out too late who maybe banged his knee on a crate somewhere.

Instead, the wailing seems to be coming from his own doorstep.

Confused, the German looks down - and on the doormat sits a small child, barely up to his shins, great fat tears rolling down its cheeks.

Ludwig purses his lips and crouches. The child is holding something on its lap, a piece of paper. He plucks it out of its fingers and reads it; and a moment later, his eyes widen in horror and he stares at the child long and hard.

He has to turn this child over to the authorities to be "relocated." If Ludwig takes him in, the authorities will destroy both of them once he is found out.

And yet ... something about the boy ... leaving him out on the doorstep with the letter sends such a powerful feeling of revulsion through Ludwig's body that he pushes the thought of abandoning the boy away.

He shakes his head and curses himself for being so soft, then gathers the Jew up in his arms and brings him inside.

Behind them, the door shuts; the streets are quiet.

In the night sky overhead, the stars glow softly like faraway angels.


	2. Helmut

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

II.

The child, whom he has dubbed Helmut for courage and protection, is three years old (or so it says on the paper) with brown hair and blue eyes.

He waddles as he walks, still unsteady on his feet; Ludwig tries to correct this by spending a few hours with him. Helmut coos in delight and, much to the German's surprise, walks a straight line from one side of the room to the other before falling down on his cushioned bum.

Ludwig tries his best to be fatherly - he gives up his blankets, his old toys, his pillows, and portions of his food to the boy. Sometimes he gets frustrated and paces restlessly, kicking at the carpet and tearing at his hair.

But when he sees the boy peeking at him from around the doorway, his eyes wide and curious, he has to stop and ask for forgiveness.

Helmut always pats the top of Ludwig's head and smiles, and Ludwig can't help but think that the boy understands him.

More than once, he thinks that it would be better to turn the boy in, particularly when he tucks him into bed next to him. He thinks it would be best to just drop him off at the nearest post for the SS along with the letter and run away.

Then he reasons that it would be brutal to leave a child on some other doorstep in a cold, empty, dark street. He reasons that Helmut would cry and possibly try to run after him on wobbly legs and outstretched arms.

And he stares at the cherubic, rosy-cheeked child with the thumb stuck in his mouth, kicks himself, and vows with an almost vicious devotion that he will never give Helmut up.


	3. Yuletide

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

III.

Ludwig does not know Helmut's birthday, so he makes it Christmas.

On the occasion that the boy turns four, Ludwig bakes him some cake and buys him some toy tanks and fighter planes, hoping that he isn't too young to appreciate his presents.

Helmut is delighted.

A few hours later, the tanks are trailing crumbs all over the floor and the fighter planes are covered in sprinkles of sugar. Ludwig grumbles and grabs the broom to sweep the crumbs away as Helmut toddles over to the fir tree and looks up, giggling. He reaches his arms up, showing surprise as his arms brush against the pines of the trees.

Ludwig bends down and slips an arm under the toddler's bottom, another to support his back. He straightens and shows Helmut the wheel on top, then takes it off and gives it to him. He watches as the ornament is turned around and around in small hands; he watches as Helmut's expression grows curious.

"It's a sun wheel, little one," he murmurs, patting his back. "It's Yuletide. It's when we celebrate..." He stops dead, his expression growing still. Helmut gives him a questioning look.

Christmas, he remembers, is a holiday to celebrate the birth of Christ. _Was._ But Jesus was a Jew, and the Jews are the enemy of the German people.

'And so,' says a voice in the back of his head, 'is the boy you're holding.'

"...It's to celebrate our Führer, the Saviour."

The words come out smoothly, easily. Helmut seems satisfied, although Ludwig doubts he knows who the Führer _is._

Just then, the boy twists in his arms. "Sun!" says Helmut, looking up at his caretaker.

"Sun!" He holds up the wheel, and a sharp pain shoots though Ludwig's heart. He takes the sun wheel from Helmut and places it back on top of the tree.

Then Ludwig takes Helmut to the window to see the lights and parades outside. The child laughs and claps his hands with delight, pointing at the Yule lanterns and waving at the people passing by.

When Helmut falls asleep at last, Ludwig takes him upstairs and tucks him in.


	4. Schutzstaffel and Sugar Cubes

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

IV.

Helmut is five when the war begins. Ludwig, who has been avoiding an actual rank in the government or army for the boy's sake, can no longer escape.

As he lounges with the child secured tightly in his arms, he hears the rapping of knuckles on his front door. He sits up and puts a finger to Helmut's lips, asks the boy to get off, and makes his way to the door. Helmut walks behind him, his blue eyes questioning.

Ludwig opens the door, the feeling of dread growing in his gut. There are three men there. Two of them are wearing a brown uniform with a red armband; the other, a sharp black one with the same armband and a cap perched on his head.

They simultaneously click their heels together and throw their right arm forward.

"Heil Hitler."

Ludwig returns the salute and glances at Helmut, whose head is cocked as he watches them with interest. He does a clumsy imitation, unable to figure out why his heels don't click in the same way the men's heels do, and smiles sheepishly up at them.

Guilt begins worming in the pit of Ludwig's stomach. He feels queasy and wants to get this over with as soon as possible. He turns back to the men; the one in black introduces himself as the _Untersturmführer. _Ludwig offers him a polite nod.

"Listen - Beilschmidt, is it? Ludwig Beilschmidt? That's right. Well, we" (he gestures to the men flanking his sides) "have come here to fetch you and _persuade _you into becoming an officer under the Führer. We were looking through the records, you see, and we were really very impressed by your lineage!"

At the mention of his family, Ludwig stiffens. His brother, who considered himself a proud Prussian, had been disgusted by the current regime. He left years ago when the Führer was only beginning and cursed Ludwig for not coming along with him.

He wonders if his brother would have joined the army or the police if he had stayed.

"So, being an Aryan German, we would like to offer you the opportunity to join the _Schutzstaffel. _Now, you are aware that there are several different branches...?"

The only response Ludwig can give is a nod. His throat is too dry for him to try and speak.

"Of course you do. What was I thinking? Well, I'd like you to think about this offer. This opportunity to serve the Führer with all of your heart. You would really be a valuable addition; a prime specimen of the German race! How about ... let's give you a week to mull it over. Does that sound fine?"

Ludwig nods again, although it doesn't sound fine at all.

"Excellent! We look forward to it." The _Untersturmführer _gives him a smile that shows off his brilliant white teeth, then crouches to peer at Helmut. Ludwig twitches, but makes no move to get the Jewish boy away from the SS official.

"Hello, there, boy," says the _Untersturmführer, _taking off his cap with a smile.

Helmut, who has been examining his hands in boredom, gives him a quick look. "H ... hello."

"No need to be so nervous. Are you a good boy?"

"I think so." He peers up at Ludwig, who clears his throat and mutters a "yes." "I'm a good boy."

"Do you go to school yet?"

"No, sir. Ludwig teaches me."

"Does he, now? -Very good. Stretch out your hands. Palm-up." The _Untersturmführer _drops a sugar cube in Helmut's hands and the boy's eyes go wide. He puts it on his tongue and closes his eyes, letting it melt as an expression of sheer bliss fills his face.

The _Untersturmführer _stands and chuckles. "A good boy you have there, indeed. Is he yours?"

Ludwig's mind races with a million different answers. At last, he says, "No."

"No?"

"He was ... he was left to me, sir. By a deceased relative of mine." He does his best to keep calm, although he is already breaking out into a sweat. He forces his eyes to remain level and his breathing to be steady; he will _not _give away Helmut's origins. He _must not._

The _Untersturmführer _stares back coolly, then closes his eyes and nods. "Good, good. Although, I have one bit of advice to offer..." He leans in, an eyebrow cocked. Ludwig fights the urge to lean away from his sharp features and scrutinising eyes.

"Take him to the Hitler Youth when he's old enough, won't you?"

He eases back into position, does the salute one more time, and turns on his heel, beckoning the men to come with him.

Ludwig's fear is replaced with immense relief, and he shuts the door and locks it tight. As soon as he does it, he feels a tug on his pants and looks down at Helmut, giving him a shaky smile. "Yes, Helmut?"

"I want another one of those squares," pleads the boy, mustering the most pitiful expression he can make.

The German laughs; his mood lifts a little more. "There are some in the cupboard. Come, I'll give you one. But no more! We don't want you to get too fat from eating them."

'Otherwise you can't serve the Führer,' chants a voice in his head.


	5. False Papers

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

V.

"Fake papers. I need them."

A man with grey hair and glasses gives Ludwig a peculiar look. "Now, Ludwig, you know I owe you a favour, but _fake papers_ is something beyond my area of expertise..."

"Just do it! I need your help here, Nikolaus! Get someone, _anyone, _to do it - I'll pay anything..."

"Calm down! Why are you in such a frenzy?" Nikolaus tilts his glasses and clears his throat. "Very well, I'll see what I can do. I have so many connections that I'm bound to find someone who can make fake ... fake papers in no time. -But for whom are these intended?"

"Helmut."

"Helmut? You mean your boy?"

"He's not really my boy."

"No? What is he, then? -Don't shift so uncomfortably. You can trust me."

"...A relative of mine left him to me."

"You're lying! Otherwise, why would you need false papers? Hey!" Nikolaus' eyes widen; he hushes and peers at Ludwig over thick lenses. "Is Helmut a ... is Helmut a _Jew?_"

Ludwig purses his lips and looks away. Nikolaus sighs and shakes his head.

"Imagine! The perfect Aryan German - blond hair, blue eyes, devoted to the Führer - taking care of a _Jewish boy!"_

"I know it sounds bad."

"That's the understatement of the century. You'll both be killed! You're going to have to make sure no one discovers his origin. Besides me, of course. Now, false papers ... I'll get to it as soon as possible. He's at school right now?"

"Yes."

"Of course. What did I mean by asking that?" The man shuffles over to a bookshelf; Ludwig follows him. "I'll do what I can, like I said. Wait about a week. Less or more. I'll have your papers by then."

Ludwig smiles at the old man. "Thank you, Nikolaus."

Nikolaus smiles back at Ludwig and shuffles into the back of his shop. He wonders why Ludwig would ever risk his life for the boy of some Jewish woman he doesn't even know. He wonders if Ludwig has considered what will happen when he is caught.

Most of all, he wonders whether he would do the same.

A week later, Helmut becomes Helmut von Beck, five years old, date-of-birth December 25th, 1934, a pure German.

An Aryan German.


	6. Of Trains and Pigs

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

VI.

In 1941, Ludwig takes Helmut to see the trains. The boy has been asking many questions lately, wanting to get out more. The only thing Ludwig can do to satiate his curiosity is give him a general view of his world without overstepping any lines.

He watches the _Sonderzüge, _or special trains, chanting with the crowd. The profanity that escapes his mouth is only natural; it slips out without a thought. When he looks at Helmut, he can see that the six-year-old is listening to them, trying to imitate them.

"_Judenschwein! Judenschwein!"_

Ludwig forces himself not to feel sick when Helmut realises what they're saying and begins shouting along with them at the top of his lungs.

After they see the trains off, Ludwig takes Helmut's hand - he's too big to carry now - and begins to walk slowly so that the boy has an easy time beside him.

A few minutes of contemplative silence later, Helmut speaks. "Ludwig?"

"Yes, Helmut?"

"What did the Jews do wrong, Ludwig?"

Ludwig doesn't know how to answer. He has to physically stop to think about it. Helmut's face scrunches up as he waits for an answer; the German can practically see the gears in his brain turning.

At last, Ludwig says, "Nothing."

"Nothing? Not a single thing?" He looks appalled.

Ludwig reconsiders his answer, his lips twisting. A few seconds later, he adds, "They exist."

"They're evil?"

"Yes. They're evil." It's the right answer and Ludwig knows it. It is what Hitler has been telling them since 1933. It _must _be the right answer. And yet something has changed.

Something has planted the seed of doubt in his gut, and he's almost completely positive that that something is Helmut.

They reach the front door. Ludwig fumbles around for the keys; Helmut takes this opportunity to ask another question.

"Where do the trains go?"

"To the camps."

"What are the camps?"

"Where Jews work."

Helmut thinks about this, tapping his chin. "I saw a very sad-looking old man on the train. Do the Jews not want to work?"

"No. They're lazy." These words tumble out before Ludwig can stop them. He immediately feels ashamed, as if he has said something wrong, completely and utterly wrong.

'But against _what_?'

The boy seems to have caught onto his discomfort at last; he smiles and pats Ludwig's arm as the door swings open. They step inside, and Helmut takes off his shoes. Before Ludwig can head into the kitchen to make supper, he calls him back to ask one more thing.

"What's _Judenschwein?_"

"...They're Jewish pigs."

"Do the Jews have pigs, too?"

"No, it's ... it's their name. They're pigs."

"Oh. Okay."

Ludwig goes into the kitchen feeling very heavy; there is a lump in his throat that won't go away no matter how many glasses of water he drinks.

When Helmut is asleep, he curses and whacks himself around the head a few good times, then takes some beer to the balcony and drinks until the bottle hits the ground and his muttering turns into snores.


	7. The Letter

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

VII.

Helmut picks up a piece of paper off the floor.

He can tell it's been folded and re-folded many times; there are creases and rips in it, and it feels like it might fall apart in his hands if he is too rough with it. He wonders what's inside; perhaps Ludwig's deep, dark secrets, or the secret recipe for a cake, or a to-do list.

He's not sure if he's allowed to peek inside, but there is a strong sense of curiosity that takes the form of a voice in his head, urging him to open it.

Helmut looks around the room to make sure Ludwig is absent. He unfolds it with the eager expectations of a seven-year-old.

It reads:

_"Ludwig Beilschmidt, I know you are a man of God. Please save my boy; he's three, he knows nothing of the world. My husband has been killed, and I am on the run, but I can't move quickly with a little boy to take care of. Don't let them kill him, even though he is Jewish! I beg of you to take him under your wing. You are my only hope left.. -SZ"_

The boy tilts his head after reading it, his nose scrunching up and his eyebrows knitting together. He wonders when Ludwig ever took in another boy and why he has never seen him before.

A few hours later, at the dinner table, he stands up in his chair and leans his child body over, arm outsretched with the paper in his hand. Ludwig gives him a perplexed look and takes it; and in the moment that follows, Helmut watches the German's expression change.

The moment he takes it, Ludwig's eyebrows come together and the frown incited by Helmut standing on his chair deepens. The boy can see something else behind his eyes, too.

Fear.

It is something he has never seen Ludwig express before. The man has always been so stoic, too proud to show his feelings to anyone. He has been called _strict, militaristic, _and _perfect_ by everyone - superiors, inferiors, civilians.

"An appeal to fear never finds an echo in German hearts," Ludwig tells him every night. Helmut always hears the note of pride in his voice.

And yet sitting at the table, handing the note over, had somehow caused Ludwig to _fear_ something. Helmut can't possibly fathom what the note means to him, and at this point he doesn't really want to know, but he wants to break the awkward silence that has filled the air between them.

His tongue is thick in his mouth; he doesn't know what to say first. He inhales deeply and says, stuttering slightly, "S-so ... who's th-the boy? Why've I ne ... never seen him before?"

Ludwig looks up and gives the boy a look so pained that Helmut's bottom firmly plops back down in its chair. His hands find the cool metal of his fork and spoon, and he commences eating as if the question had never been posed.

His caretaker puts the note aside and finishes dinner without saying anything. He collects the dishware and stacks them in the sink for cleaning after Helmut goes to bed.

Helmut sits in his chair, looking down at his knees. Ludwig cranes his head over his shoulder to look at him and sighs. Turning around, he places two fingers on the bridge of his nose and squeezes firmly.

"You are," he grumbles.

The boy's head snaps back up; he waits for Ludwig to finish his sentence. He doesn't know that Ludwig _has _finished his sentence.

After another brief period of quiet, he pipes up, "I'm what?"

"...You're the boy. In that letter." He jerks a thumb at the folded paper; Helmut follows the direction of his thumb.

He says, "I don't understand."

Ludwig sighs. "I saved you that night."

"Huh?"

"1937. You were left on my doorstep. I ... I picked you up. I saved you."

"You mean I'm not _your son?"_ Helmut's voice raises a little; Ludwig holds up a hand.

"Just because you aren't biologically mine - that means I didn't help make you - doesn't mean I love you any less. Helmut, I consider you nothing short of a wonderful son. And I admit, although I was reluctant to keep you at first, I've become attached to you."

Helmut folds his arms and draws his eyebrows together; his forehead creases and his breathing grows huffy. Ludwig realises that this is in direct imitation of him when he's upset.

He adds, "I'd never let you go at this point."

"But _Lud_wig, I don't get it. Why were you the letter ... er's ... only hope?"

"I don't know. I reckon I must know them from somewhere, but I don't recognise the handwriting. All I know is that whoever it is knows me."

Helmut thinks on this for a few moments, then shakes his head. "I don't believe it. I'm not a Jew. I'm a German!"

"You are a _German Jew,_" replies Ludwig firmly.

"I refuse. I want to be German."

"You can't be German just because you want to."

"But I _have _to be!" The boy hops off of his chair and paces, another habit acquired from his caretaker. "Jews don't call each other _Judensau_, and they don't cheer when the trains pass! I'm not a Jewish pig; I'm not lazy! I celebrate Yuletide and I hail the Führer! What makes me _not _German?"

Ludwig, growing ever tired of the boy's vicious musing, snaps: "_You are a Jew because you were born a Jew. There is absolutely _nothing _you can do to change that!"_

And Helmut stops pacing, gives Ludwig a look of hurt and disbelief, and kicks at the floor before racing up the stairs to his room, leaving the German all alone in the kitchen.

The blonde stays still for a few moments; and then, with a snort of disgust, turns to the dishes.

'He'll come around. Nobody can escape their blood.'

Almost painfully, he is reminded of his brother again.

Ludwig waves away the memory and picks up the soap and sponge, running the water and watching as fluff-laced liquid streaks down the sides of the porcelain.

When he is finished, he dries his hands and goes upstairs to rest himself.


	8. When a Father is not a Father

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

VIII.

Early the next morning, Helmut takes the watercolours and paints all over himself while Ludwig watches. Every stroke of the paintbrush makes the German cringe.

"Why are you doing that?" asks Ludwig. "There's a lot of paper. You don't have to paint your face. And if you want to look like an animal, I can do it for you."

Helmut gives him a triumphant smile, holding the paintbrush high up in the air. Streaks of red and blue drip down his face. "I'm a Jew, so I'm painting myself." And when Ludwig gives him the _look,_ he laughs.

"Don't worry, I won't go out!"

Later, after Ludwig gives Helmut a bath, he gives him dinner. Helmut doesn't touch it. Instead he looks up at Ludwig and says, "Aren't there rules for what Jews can eat?"

"Yes," says Ludwig. He doesn't say anything else.

"What can't they eat?"

"I don't know. I'm not a Jew."

"I'm not eating until I know what I can-"

"Weren't you protesting that you weren't a Jew just yesterday?" Ludwig interrupts.

Helmut pulls a face. "Yeah, but I changed my mind. I was thinking about it and I don't like the _Untersturmführer _or anyone else. They're all big, fat, and mean."

Ludwig tries to hide his amusement. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"You'd better not let them hear you say that."

"I won't! And don't you dislike them too, Ludwig?"

"_Time for bed,_" says his guardian almost snappishly. Helmut blows him a raspberry, slides out of his chair, and darts upstairs. But before he disappears on the stairs, he shouts loud and clear downstairs.

"I want a goodnight kiss, _Vat - _Ludwig!" And then he is gone.

Ludwig blinks and slowly but surely begins to ascend the steps. He doesn't know why he feels stung by Helmut's correction. He isn't the boy's father, not biologically, nor is he a relative of his.

'Because you are a German and he is a Jew.'

He has stopped fighting off these thoughts now that Helmut knows who he is. Yet even so, they are not as strong as they were before, almost as if he has defeated that voice.

He kisses Helmut's forehead and tucks him in. As he watches the boy depart from consciousness, he feels something tug at his heartstrings. For the first time since he took Helmut in, Ludwig bends over to embrace him.

Helmut's eyes flutter wide open for a few more seconds, responding to the warmth. He burrows his head into the German's shoulder before he loses himself to dreaming.

"I love you, _Vati._"


	9. The Luckiest Kid in all of Germany

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

IX.

The thrill of being a Jew wears off in the first week. Helmut has become more cautious; he hesitates before insulting his own people. Ludwig approves, but he reminds Helmut that if someone like the _Untersturmführer _were to hear him, he would be in big trouble.

Helmut only stares back and shrugs. "Who cares? When I think about it, everyone's the same, Ludwig. Don't you think so too?"

Ludwig considers it and says no, he's never thought about it that way. "People have always been told that Jews were inferior to Germans, and Germans were superior to Jews. There have been _Untermenschen _and _Übermenschen._"

The boy gazes up at him. Ludwig is startled to find that his stare does not feel quite as innocent as it did before - that now, it feels like the boy is analysing him. But he doesn't say anything, only fiddles his fingers and looks out through the window to see the sun setting.

"Ludwig?" His name is dragged out slowly. Helmut sounds deep in thought.

The German gives him a glance. "What is it?"

"I think it's time to change."

Who or what inspired Helmut's revolutionary ideas, Ludwig doesn't know. He asks him this a few days later, and the child blinks, astonished.

"Why, it's all because of you!"

"Me?"

"Yeah! You're the bestest! I eat meat and bread every day, and I have lots of toys to play with, and you haven't ever excluded me from anything, Ludwig! I mean, everything you can do, I can do too."

Ludwig is silent, but Helmut sees his expression break stoicism and sternness at last. The way his eyebrows curve in concern for him, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, the softening of his eyes all make Helmut feel wonderful and special. He remembers that Ludwig has only ever been so kind and loving toward him and no one else.

He's the specialest and luckiest kid in the whole of Germany right now, and he's just begun to realise it.

"Mm. That's right, isn't it?" That's all Ludwig says, but Helmut knows it means more.

He knows it means that Ludwig will try to change. He'll change because of Helmut.

And that's the best part of it all.


	10. And What of Nikolaus?

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

X.

In many ways Helmut is Ludwig's worst enemy.

He is the devil in disguise. He is a child whose roots are deeply embedded in blood-drinking and baking babies for matzoh. If he is caught, the officers will make sure that he is killed, and Ludwig will suffer the same fate.

Yet Ludwig presses on with Helmut under his wing, evading _Schutzstaffel _who are more frantic than ever.

The air in Germany is charged with tension as the war draws to a close. People are making last-ditch efforts to salvage their nation's future, and the wolves who stalk the streets in sleek black uniforms creep upon the swine - men with bulbous noses, those who complain too much or are too good at business.

Helmut thinks it is all absurd. Swinging his legs on a chair, he says:

"If they really want to find the Jews, why don't they look through the papers?"

Ludwig answers smoothly. "Because some of the papers are false. Have you forgotten your own?"

The boy frowns. "Oh, yeah."

"Do you see what I mean?"

"Yes." A moments passes before Helmut speaks again. "If I have one dream, Ludwig, it's to be able to travel through Germany when I'm an adult. And I won't have to wear a yellow star. I won't have to be judged for my blood either. I'll just be able to go where I go no matter what. I want to see what the books say, Ludwig. The forests and the rivers and the green hills. I don't want to have to hide in Berlin forever."

"Knowing you, Helmut, you will definitely find a way."

(He casts a downward glance at the boy - four foot six, mousy brown hair, ocean blue eyes - and takes note of the way he tries to remain discreet in wiping his nose and eyes.)

"Yep, I will. Thanks, Ludwig."

"And of course, I'll help you."

Helmut looks up at him, face lighting up. "Thank you, Ludwig."

The moment is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. Ludwig tears his eyes away from the child and moves into the living room. He takes his sweet time answering it, waiting for at least five rings before picking up.

He expects it to be the _Untersturmführer_ or some other goon. Instead, he hears Nikolaus' voice in a powerful burst of passion, something about someone being there at any moment.

"I can't understand a thing you're saying, Nikolaus," he tries to edge in, but it is no good. The blabbering from the other end of the phone is simply too overwhelming.

He hears Nikolaus draw in a deep breath. He holds the phone away from his ear just as the old man bellows, _"The Untersturmführer is coming!"_

Ludwig stands still, thoroughly unimpressed. "And?"

_"And he knows!"_

"Knows what? What could he-"

The lightbulb clicks. The epiphany is a freight train that collides with him and sends him spinning out of control. Slack-jawed, trembling, the receiver slides from his hand and strikes against polished wood.

The doorbell rings.

Footsteps clatter from the kitchen to the entrance hallway.

"I'll get it!" says Helmut, dashing by the living room in a blur of brown and blue.

Ludwig cannot stop him. He hears the clicks of latches and bolts, and the tune Helmut is singing.

He barely makes it to the hall before the door is opened.

At the other end stands a man with his chin held high and his hair neatly combed, tucked beneath the familiar cap with the death's-head symbol.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt," he says coldly.


	11. And It All Comes to a Close

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

XI.

Ludwig greets the _Untersturmführer _without missing a beat using the salute. H ereturns it, though his cold gaze remains the same.

"What brings you here?" asks Ludwig, doing his best to remain casual.

The officer's eyes flicker downwards at Helmut. The boy tilts his head inquisitively, blissfully unaware of the situation at hand, and the man's jaw twitches.

"How could I not have seen it before," he hisses through clenched teeth. "Everything points to it ... how you acquired the boy. Everything makes so much sense."

It is a frightened Helmut that stammers out the question, "W-w-what?"

The officer stoops down to his level and spits in his face. The boy backs away and, with a look of horror, wipes saliva from his cheek. Pathetically, the only noise he can produce is a whimper.

The _Untersturmführer _advances on him. Helmut inches back.

"Were you aware of his blood all along, Ludwig? You must have been, don't give me that look. You lied to me! When you lie to me, you lie to Germany! You lie to the _Führer!"_

Ludwig is not a good actor. He cannot pretend to be asleep when Helmut slips into his bed in the middle of the night asking for ice cream. He cannot smile too well when he doesn't feel like it.

Helmut looks back at him. The older man, his father figure, his saviour, is enraged. There is hope. He knows Ludwig is strong enough to pummel the _Untersturmführer _into submission, if need be. He opens his mouth to tell him to do it, but the next moment Ludwig is advancing in their direction.

He sees Ludwig's hand leave his side, but something is wrong. He is still too far to take ahold of the official's collar.

Before he knows what's happening, Helmut feels familiar fingers take ahold of the shell of his ear and pinch. Hard. So hard that he yelps and tries to pull Ludwig's hand off. What was happening? Ludwig never held him by the ear before!

_"Untersturmführer," _Ludwig addresses the other man, "I would like to personally 'take care' of this boy." The volume of his voice was eerily quiet. "His mother told me to protect him. As bad as it sounds, I'm rather attached to him. Therefore I would like your permission to do the dirty work from here on."

The _Untersturmführer _cocks an eyebrow. "I don't trust you."

"It was simply on moral obligation. I promise, with your coming, I got rid of the last shreds of my conscience."

Helmut wants to scream. He wants to punch Ludwig and ask him what's going on. He wants answers for why, all of a sudden, his only friend is turning against him.

But he can't. He is so paralysed by the fear of what happens next that he just stands there, hot and quivering, between two demons who seem to want to swallow him whole.

The atmosphere is tense. The officer narrows his eyes at Ludwig; Ludwig stares coolly back.

The officer sighs and takes off his cap, running a hand through his air. "It isn't that easy."

"Please. I won't ruin it for the Führer. I will dispose of this boy."

At that, Helmut twists around to look at Ludwig.

The pain in his ear is nothing.

What happens to his heart is far worse. In a flash, he remembers the tales Ludwig has told him. The Brothers Grimm. Saint George and the Dragon.

Helmut thinks that being impaled through and through feels like this. He wants to do many things. Throw up. Cry. He wants this to be a dream, but the dull throbbing in his ear ensures that it is not a dream.

He barely hears their next words. The _Untersturmführer _is greedy. He tells Ludwig to throw in an amount of money (to Helmut, it sounds like lots and lots) and fine, he'll let Ludwig get rid of him. It would be a shame to lose such a fine soldier, anyway. They need him on the front. What has he been doing at home all along?

The _Untersturmführer _leaves. The locks click, the door shuts. Ludwig lets go of the boy's ear and sighs.

"Helmut..."

Helmut, choking back a sob, runs upstairs and throws himself on the bed.

Outside of his door, Ludwig hears nothing - not even the faintest of a sniffle.

* * *

It is a long way to any kind of woods and they have to walk, the two of them. Berlin is in chaos, but its beauty has not yet been ruined. Helmut is not holding Ludwig's hand.

They have nothing to say to each other. Helmut obeys Ludwig. He isn't tall, but he stands in front of Ludwig like a good boy and holds his chin up high. He watches as Ludwig loads the pistol.

Funny thing is, he's never seen the pistol by itself before now. It always sat in a little leather case in Ludwig's study. He never thought it would be used.

And certainly not against him.

He makes no move when he hears the sharp click that indicates it's ready to be fired. He wonders what it's like to be shot. It had to hurt...

He doesn't want it to hurt.

"L-Ludwig..." he whispers.

Ludwig doesn't make any indication of having heard him.

He wants to say more. He wants to plead with him, but he doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes.

_An appeal to fear never finds an echo in German hearts._

_An appeal to fear never finds an echo in German hearts._

_An appeal to fear nev-_

A shot rings out, deafening to the boy's ears. All of the explosions he's heard - artillery, gunfire - have always been behind walls. Being close to the bang is a completely different experience.

Miraculously, he feels nothing. He lets himself open his eye just a sliver.

Beside him, there is a bullet in the ground.

Ludwig aims again. He fires.

'The first time was just practise. Here it comes.'

Nothing. Just another loud bang as the bullet explodes forth from the muzzle of the gun. It buries itself into the soil again, near the boy's feet.

And again and again. Amazed, Helmut wonders if Ludwig's aim is just extraordinarily bad.

But no. He's walking towards Helmut. His arm comes forward and shoves Helmut into the dirt. The child almost protests, but Ludwig holds a finger to his lips. Then he stoops down, takes his hand, and stuffs a piece of paper in it.

He stands and turns away from his charge, winding and weaving through the trees.

Helmut waits for him to turn around and say goodbye.

The head of blond hair disappears among the leaves. A few moments pass before panic begins to well up - overpowering, piercing - inside Helmut.

_Ludwig is gone._

It takes a few hours for Helmut to get used to being alone. Initially everything scares him, but the longer he sits there, the more it trickles into his head that nothing will hurt him.

He clenches his fists and feels edges pressing into his palm. What? Oh! The note. He'd almost forgotten about the note.

Slowly, his fist loosens to reveal the crumpled white paper in his hand. Not daring to breathe, he unfurls the paper, pulling the corners apart to find neat handwriting within.

_"Helmut:_

_It may seem as though I am betraying you, but I assure you I am not. I agreed to pay the Untersturmführer such an amount of money that I wouldn't be able to support both of us. It was a golden opportunity to get you away from the chaos in Berlin and I took it - but now you will have to fend for yourself._

_As much as I did for you, this is where it ends. Here, in this note. Where I drop you off, you will be close to the house of a good friend of mine. Just keep going in a straight line and you'll soon be out of the woods. Not too far beyond should be a small cottage of some sort. If you show him this note, I'm sure he won't oppose your stay. He's a very kind-hearted man._

_If all goes well and you make it to him, he's sure to keep you safe until the war ends. I have a feeling that this is soon. Do not come back to Berlin._

_I have a lot to say, but not enough paper. You drew and wrote on all of the sheets I gave you. It isn't much, but it will suffice: good luck, Helmut, and remember that your father loves you._

_Ludwig."_

The ink is slightly runny. Helmut crumples the note in his fist again.

And then he begins to cry.


	12. Epilogue

**[On the subject of nations as humane.]**

**Warning:** This piece of writing contains some ideologically sensitive material. If you are easily offended, it is advised that you do not read this. However, in no way does this story reflect the personal opinions of the author him/herself. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer:** Ludwig Beilschmidt, or the personification of Germany, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

Epilogue.

The aftermath of the war that shook the world is terrible, even in Berlin. Especially in Berlin.

The upper level of Ludwig's house is completely destroyed. He is cold in the winter and his jacket is too thin to completely withstand the chill. Many of his books have been destroyed in fires. There is too little food for too many people.

Ludwig's doorstep attracts devils, for one night when he and ten other Germans shiver and huddle together, he opens it to find a man stooped over, with hollows under his eyes. At first Ludwig merely thinks he is old until he enters and shakes the frost from his head and shoulders. It is only then that he recognises the brilliant silver hair (though it is caked with grime) and the ruby-red eyes peering at him from in between barely noticeable lashes.

His throat dry, Ludwig opens the door a little wider, and the gust that sweeps the room makes every inhabitant shift closer to each other. The newcomer asks if they have food.

And of course it is a sorrowful Ludwig who informs Gilbert that they have no leftovers, they were all so hungry.

"The Allies have proven to be anything but hospitable," he comments.

"You're telling me," mutters the newcomer. "I come back here, expecting to see that we'd all learnt a lesson and things had been settled peacefully_, _and everything's a wreck. War's a fucking terrible thing."

Ludwig shoots him an amused glance, but it fades quickly.

"For someone who proudly states that they're one hundred percent Prussian, that's the last thing I'd expect from you."

"Yeah, well, look around you. What's there to see for miles around? Rubble. People crying. Infants who don't have homes. How many people have died because of a stupid war, Ludwig? A war that maybe could have been stopped." Gilbert pauses to examine the dirt under his fingernails. "But it happened, and you know why? I imagine nobody ever really stood up to him, that Hitler guy of yours." (Almost accusatory.) "Except maybe that Churchill. Now that was a brave guy."

For a split second, a bright little ghost of Helmut clad in lederhosen flashes before Ludwig's eyes. Kneading his temples, he announces that he thinks he'll go to bed.

Gilbert gives him a scrutinising look.

"Sweet dreams, Bruder."

* * *

Whatever happens after that – the Berlin Wall, the Cold War, Kennedy's visit – barely concerns Ludwig. He isn't young anymore. He prefers to do his work in the day and settle down to read in the evening.

But every year, he secretly celebrates Christmas. (Gilbert refuses to join.)

He does not have a tree, so he crafts one out of whatever he has. He strews it with colourful strips of sparkling plastic – what most would consider "trash" or "litter" – and puts it out on the balcony if the wind is not too strong.

(The night is his friend. It's too dark for the Allied officers to see him.)

He bakes a simple cake and eats it on the balcony. The topper is always a partially-burnt piece of camouflage plastic with a faded cross painted on it.

It was all he could salvage.

* * *

In 1955, Germany is an official sovereign state thanks to the General Treaty.

In 1955, Ludwig breathes a sigh of relief and listens to Gilbert's indignant huff about how it should have happened earlier.

"At least they wised up from the last war," says the ever-cynical Prussian. "Destroy a nation's economy and you'll end up with more than you bargained for on your hands. And whose fault is it? Why, yours of course. Saved a hell lot of lives by not crushing Germany again. –But enough about that, let's go get coffee."

Ludwig leads Gilbert to the nearest café_, _a quiet little place with an unassuming front.

They sit beside a young man with short brown hair and blue eyes. He is deeply immersed in the various newspapers scattered around him and does not look up.

The brothers speak to each other in hushed tones about the Wall that separates East Berlin from the West. They joke and banter and chuckle and trade until Gilbert, during a moment of awkward silence, leans over to ask the scholar what he's doing.

The boy's head snaps up, blinking rapidly. "I-I've got to find someone."

_'There is something familiar about his voice.'_

"There was someone very important to me during the war, you see, someone who was very helpful. In fact, you might even say I'm only alive because of them. But I haven't been able to find them, they're not at the address they were before, and I can't seem to find their name anywhere…"

"Maybe my brother can help you out," offers Gilbert. He turns to the blonde across the table and, with a suggestive raise of the eyebrow, says, "Ludwig?"

"Ludwig!" exclaims the young man, his eyes following Gilbert's path of sight. "What a coincidence. Why, that's the name of the … very…"

Ludwig, sitting there quietly, smiles at him – one so subtle and small that one could barely call it a smile at all.

But it is enough. The young man's jaw slackens, his eyes widening in realisation.

"No?" he asks in a soft tone.

'_I can hear the echo of the you from so long ago.'_

"Yes," the German confirms.

And Helmut – Helmut, who is twenty-one years old and has lost the cherubic tinge of ruby red in his cheeks, Helmut whose future is bright and promising – purses his lips and tries not to cry.


End file.
